


Gems

by Basingstoke



Category: Gifted (Movie 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke
Summary: Frank and Roberta work well together.
Relationships: Frank Adler/Roberta Taylor
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	Gems

**Author's Note:**

> For Bri, because she encouraged me.

"So, I owe you this for the past year. You were right about the school. You were right about everything," Frank says, and he gives her a magnum of Moscato. 

"Of course I'm right, I'm always right," Roberta says, but she takes down two glasses, so he thinks he's forgiven. 

Mary is deep into a Steven Universe marathon in the living room. Frank and Roberta have a glass of sweet wine and relax. 

"How are things with you and her teacher?" Roberta asks, refilling their glasses. 

Frank sighs. "It wasn't her fault, but...she started the ball rolling, you know?" 

"Mm-hm. It's hard to get past things." 

"I haven't seen her since the end of the school year. Mary has a different teacher next year, so, I don't know, maybe then." 

"The second grade teacher is cute. Third grade, too. You can collect them all!" 

Frank snorts. "Give me _some_ credit?" 

Roberta makes a face and a skeptical noise. 

*

Mary is still watching Steven Universe when it falls dark. "How long does this go?" Frank mutters to Roberta. 

"Aw, heck, let me see." She pulls something up on her phone. "Until Saturday." She makes an oops face. 

Frank rubs his face. "I'm going to have to get cable, I guess?" 

"I can get the DVDs from the fellow around the corner tomorrow. I like that show. The big girl with the shades reminds me of Pam Grier." 

Frank grins. "Okay then." 

"All right! Go pry her off my sofa before the next one starts." 

"Shit," he mutters, and he does, only a little wobbly from the wine. "Come on, kiddo." 

"Noooooo," Mary says, but her heart isn't in it. She's well aware of how much of an indulgence this has been. 

"Come on." He gets her moving. He gives Roberta a brief hug as they leave.

*

He's awake for hours thinking about the next school year. Mary's college courses-- _she is seven_ \--and second grade. 

She's almost eight, he thinks, as if that makes college courses more reasonable. She will only be ten years younger than the other kids. 

Except, he realizes, she's in 500 level classes, not 101. Seniors and grad students. Jesus FUCK. 

When he wakes up, the sun is lower than it should be and he has a headache. Not a hangover, he only had three drinks, but he's closing in on forty and headaches just happen sometimes. 

With all that, it takes him a while to realize Mary is watching her laptop. "Hey," he says. 

"It's free," Mary says. 

"Okay? What is it?" 

"Steven Universe." 

"Yeah, but--okay," he says, as her eyes return to the screen. 

Honestly, it's kind of refreshing to have this kind of argument with her. And it's summer vacation. Rotting her brain on cartoons is the summer vacation experience. Steven Universe, from what he's seen of it, beats the hell out of Transformers, which he can remember being deeply into when he was her age. 

He finds Roberta in the laundry room. "She found the show on her computer," he says, feeling stupid that he doesn't know how she did it, but also accepting his role as the uncool dad. 

"Well, that's okay. The DVD man only charged me ten bucks for the whole series." 

Frank holds out his hands and she passes him the basket before loading it up. This is Mrs. Washington's laundry, he thinks; she likes green. Roberta does laundry for a few retirees around the complex. 

He carries the basket to the line--Mrs. Washington's line, he was right--and shakes out the clothes before Roberta pins them up. They work well together. They have the whole basket up inside fifteen minutes. "You working today?" Roberta asks. 

Frank shakes his head. 

"Then you won't mind looking at Joyce's sink," Roberta says. 

"Guess not," he says. 

Joyce's sink is clogged by a toddler spoon. "But I've never had a baby in here," she says when Frank hands her the short plastic spoon.

Roberta peers at it. "That looks like it's from the eighties," she says. "My baby sister had a spoon like that." 

They all look at the sink pipe. Frank shrugs. Roberta shrugs. Joyce sighs. "Thanks," she says. 

*

Frank checks on Mary. She's still watching her computer, though she has moved, and Fred is curled up at her side. Frank counts that as a good sign. 

"What's next?" he asks Roberta. 

"Hm," she says, and she has him carry Mrs. Jones' washing for her, and then fix the screens in the vacant, and then put out humane cat traps around the laundry room. He volunteers to check those until they catch the ferals that have been bothering Fred. 

Then he checks on Mary again and fixes them both PBJs and does his own laundry. He hangs up Mary's child-sized college t-shirt and tries not to feel the panic rising in his throat.

Roberta sees him stashing the laundry basket and calls him over to climb up onto the Williamses roof and put tar paper on the rusted spots. That takes most of the afternoon. They rent the spot and own the trailer, which means Roberta has no responsibility for their roof, which is why Frank is doing the work and Roberta is talking about the weather. (Also about her cousin who can get them a nearly new manufactured home to replace their trailer at a very reasonable price. They can almost afford it. Soon, hopefully.)

Jazmine Williams sends Roberta home with a certain package in her pocket. Frank checks on Mary before joining Roberta with her glass skull bong. 

He flops back, grinning at nothing. "Why skulls?" he asks. 

Roberta waves her hand. "Memento mori," she says. 

"I don't wanna remember that I'll die." 

"Yeah, but you will eventually, so act right." 

"Hmm. I don't think that's the idea of memento mori," he says. He looks at Roberta. Her face is very close. 

"No?" she says. She's very symmetrical. His eyes skim over the shape of her cheeks, her eyes, her lips. 

"I think...it means that we all will die...so don't get a big head." 

"That's what I said," Roberta says. 

"Oh," Frank says. His eyes travel over the soft curves of her cheek, her neck, her bosom in her cropped shirt, her side above the hem of her jeans. "Yeah, you did, I guess." 

"I guess. Big head," she says, tapping his forehead. 

"Normal head," Frank protests.

Roberta cracks up at that. She shakes, shaking the whole room; oh, wait, he's on her bed. She's shaking the bed. "Go check on your baby," she says. 

Frank gets up and crosses the small yard to his trailer. Mary is asleep. Too early. Frank winces, looking at the clock; she will be up at three in the morning. 

Fuck it. It's summer vacation. He closes the laptop and tucks her into bed without waking her, then crosses back to Roberta. "She's sleeping," he announces before taking the bong back up. 

Roberta laughs, just a quiver of stomach, and looks at him affectionately. "You're an okay dad," she says. 

"Yay." He rests his head on her knees. He's very comfortable. "Do you miss your kids?"

She was a young mother; her two daughters are grown up, one at Spelman, the other working in Miami. She looks distant for a moment, then says. "Yes but no. Yes, I wish they were still here under my wing. But I'm glad that they're on their own path." 

"I'm scared she's going to start on her path too soon," Frank says. 

"She won't." 

"She has college shirts already." 

"That doesn't mean a thing unless you let it." 

That's true. He exhales. "Stay her friend?" he says. 

"Stay her friend? Of course I will. What are you thinking?" 

"She needs you," Frank says. "You're…" He waves his hand. "You know things. You give the best advice." 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Frank says. He scoots closer. "I would be, I don't know. I would be in a world of hurt without you." 

"Mm-hm." She's looking at him. 

He looks back. "Maybe I'm not saying this right," he says, and he lands his hand on her breast. 

He meant to do that more smoothly. He really did. But there it is. His hand on her breast. 

Roberta looks at him, eyebrows raised, then puts her hand over his. He brushes his thumb over her nipple. 

"Go check on your baby," she says, unsexily. Frank shakes himself and obeys. 

*

On the following day, Saturday, Mary is still engrossed in Steven Universe. Frank takes off his shirt and lounges around Roberta's unit until she emerges.

"Hi," he says.

"It is nine in the morning! What in the hell are you doing?" 

Frank shrugs. 

"Give me strength. Come in," she says. 

Frank comes in. 

"I'm too old for you," she says. 

"You have a college kid, I have a college kid, same stage of life." 

Roberta laughs and shakes her head. 

"You don't even have a decade on me. And you're beautiful," he says. 

"Stop that."

"You are, though."

"I know I got it, I have the two ex-husbands to prove it," Roberta says. She shakes her head again. 

"Could either of them do this?" Frank asks, flexing to make his pectorals pop. Roberta laughs at that and he grins. 

"Why now?" she asks. 

"I...had some things come into focus over the past year. I realized some things. And I asked myself why I was going out looking for someone else with all the qualities you have. So...it's on the table. You stood up to my _mother_ , do you know how sexy that is?" 

Roberta eyes him. "Well. I suppose it was about time that handsome young men flung themselves at my feet." 

"I feel about a million and a half years old, but I'll take handsome." 

"Wait until she's a teenager, see how old you feel then." She strokes his shoulder. "I know you can't afford a gym membership. How does all this even happen?" 

"I do pull-ups when I have anxiety."

"You must be as anxious as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs." 

"Pretty much."

She pulls his head down so she can kiss him. He has eight or nine inches on her, so he has to bend down quite a way, but he's always liked that; he likes ladies who tell him outright what they want, and her hand in his hair leaves no room for confusion. 

Then she feels his dick with her other hand, making him yelp. "Okay. I can work with this," Roberta says. 

"Just right for the goods? Not even a butt squeeze? Not even--eegh," he says as she handles his package again. 

"We're both too old for bullshit," she says, and she kisses him. "We can't do this now. You have Mary and I have work. I'm showing the vacant in an hour. Gives you time to find a babysitter." 

"Lined up already." 

She raises an eyebrow. "Confident." 

"Hopeful." 

"Mm. I suppose."

"I'll come back tonight," Frank says. 

*

He does. 

It goes fine.

*

It's been going fine for over a year when Frank and Mary move into the two bedroom unit next to Roberta. They didn't want to move in together--Roberta says he's too big to fit in her house full time, which Frank can't argue with--but moving a little closer is nice. 

Frank has finished moving the furniture over and Roberta is unpacking clothes into their closets as Mary walks Fred over on his leash. Frank had, thankfully, unloaded the other two cats on neighbors; they weren't nearly as cool as Fred. 

"This is our new house and THIS is my ROOM," she tells Fred excitedly. "I get to decorate it any way I want so I'm going to cover the walls in aluminum foil!" 

"I didn't agree to either of those things," Frank objects. 

"But it's my bedroom! Those are the rules!" 

"Foil makes the house look like we're growing marijuana. I don't want to get the cops called on us. Where did you even get the idea?" 

"Andy Warhol did it," she says. "I think it would be cool." 

"It would definitely be cool, but I don't want to look like a grow house. Pick something else cool." Mary is still sleeping in the living room for now, until they get her room painted. It's currently an industrial light green that reminds him of hospitals. 

"Pink," Mary says. 

"We can do pink if you want to do pink." 

"Can we do...fuchsia?" 

"What color is fuchsia?" 

"Fuchsia is the color of the dress I wore last time you took me out," Roberta says. 

"Oh." He liked that dress a lot. The color glowed against her dark skin. She'd worn lipstick to match that had left stains on his skin he'd discovered the next morning. He clears his throat. "That's a bright color, but sure." 

"You'll go blind, baby. You don't want a whole room in a bright color, it makes it look small and it's harder to go to sleep. What you do is paint the walls ivory and then paint your dresser fuchsia," Roberta says. 

"I don't actually want fuchsia, I just want to know if I could. I want...Fred colored. I want to paint it like Fred." 

Frank thinks about that. "Sure."

"No wait! Like the beach." 

Roberta gives Frank a look. "Maybe think it over? Come on, I'll make sandwiches and then we can keep unpacking. I threw away your shirts with holes in them, by the way."

"All my shirts have holes in them! I'm a working man," Frank protests. 

"You need to work at figuring out the right washer settings," Roberta says, and they cross over to her apartment for lunch.

end.


End file.
